


Number 7007

by little_frodo



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Brutality, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Ivar (Vikings), Love, M/M, Poor and rich, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_frodo/pseuds/little_frodo
Summary: In a world after war, society has split into two classes: the normal people and the numbers. Ivar is such a number - living a life that comes close to a slave. Working in an office as a post man, he soon gets in touch with one of the others - Heahmund, a man with a vision. But their connection will be more dangerous than they think.
Relationships: Heahmund & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Number 7007

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had this idea and I wanted to share it with you guys. I don't write a lot of modern settings - a first try, haha. :) Since english is not my native language, please don't be too rough. :D I really hope you enjoy my idea! <3

„I won’t do it. I was there last time.”

Ivar snapped his head back and laughed. It was no wonder that Nick didn’t wanted to go – they had this fight nearly daily. It was not a long time ago when they had even started to play some card games during their breaks. And the profit stake was always the same: the loser had to go on the walk through all the offices and deliver the daily mails and letters.

It was not a work that was scary or even hard to do, they both knew that very well. But it was the simple task day by day entering offices where people didn’t wanted to see them or have them even touch their damn letters and notes. Ivar saw it often: the disgusted and condescending glances that followed whenever he or his coworker came close to them – the normal ones. The higher employees. The _others._

Ivar took a deep breath and sucked on his cigarette one more time; when the smoke nearly burnt his lungs, he exhaled deeply. The smoke softly slid over to the already steamed room and dimmed the lights.

“You know it’s your turn.” Nick said and watched Ivar. He did his best to look innocent, but Nick just snorted. “You cheated.”

“I did not…!”

“You did, Ivar, I saw it and you _know_ you did! I can even tell you where your fucking card was – you placed it in your sleeve.”

Hm.

For whatever Nick was doing, and Ivar knew that Nick was an idiot – he had piercing senses when it came to lies and cheating. He didn’t know what kind of superpower this was, but he always came after Ivar’s sneaky little cheats. And Ivar was good at tricking somebody.

So he had no choice. With a deep breath he flicked away his cigarette and took the small carriage where all the mail was piled up and started to push the carriage to the door.

“Next time I’ll get you.”, he said, and Nick only snorted on his.

When Ivar entered the big elevator, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment.

What had his life – and the life of others – just become? It was now around five years ago, five terrifying years in which Ivar and all the other people from the northern folks had to suffer under these circumstances. It had been a terrible time of war, hunger and deep despair, until the northern folks had lost and got captured. Since then, they were what seemed to be like another species for them – a second class, the people underneath everyone else. And to remind them every day, each and everyone of them had gotten a number.

A number, tattooed on the small area between wrist and underarm, but big enough to be seen on first sight. Ivar was the number 7007.

And these numbers – that’s how they called them – had to work day by day, underpaid, under mostly horrifying circumstances. But some were lucky, and Ivar was one of them. Sure, he was underpaid and was worthless in the eyes of their “masters”, but due to this fact he was still one of the lucky ones. He had a normal working day and was not beaten or humiliated. But he could see misery every day whenever he walked home.

A high ping was throwing him back to reality. The doors of the elevator opened and Ivar stepped into the fancy hallway. The offices were door by door and were going down all the way through the long hallway, which was mainly softly lighted and gave a feeling of something royal. The landing wheels of the carriage squeaked quietly.

Like nearly every day, Ivar did his small tour through all offices and was sometimes not even noticed. They never said “Hello” or “Thank you” – never.

Except for one office.

Ivar stopped when he was in front of this office and breathed out slowly. He looked at the golden sign that was next to the door, polished and neat and shiny. And more worth than a life of his folk.

_Bishop Heahmund Winchester - Head of Department for criminal offence._

It was still strange entering this office, every time. It was not because the guy was scary or brutal or anything. But he was … nice. He knew words like “Thank you” and “Hello” and “Nice to see you.” In another world and some years ago, it would have been normal to greet people, but not nowadays. Ivar knew he felt something like respect for this man, but he was always careful. Because he knew what kind of people were “ _Head of something_ ”.

A second later Ivar lifted his hand and softly poked against the heavy wooden door. “Come on in” was the sentence he heard, and with a soft sob he entered with his carriage.

“You are very early today. I guess there’s not much to do?” the man said and smiled; Ivar left the mails on his desk and nodded. Ivar had never been dumb - conquering the gaze of somebody like him was strictly forbidden, and Ivar had never done it. Not after what happened one year ago with another man that had worked in this office before the bishop had been here.

But Ivar watched him whenever he was turning away or facing the desk or the wall. He had the same black hair like Ivar, and nearly the same piercing blue eyes, maybe a bit lighter than his. He was older, maybe 15 to 20 years; he wasn’t good at guessing at all, and he had never had the courage to ask. But depending on his skin and the perfect trimmed three day-beard he must have been around 35 to 40 years old. And he was tall, taller than Ivar.

Ivar was already about to turn the carriage towards the door again, when the bishop asked him something.

“Do you sometimes hear about the rumors that are going on?” The voice of the bishop was nice, still, but Ivar felt unsure about how to answer that question. Deep inside him, there was still the Viking and cruel young man, that loved war and could never fit the role he was playing here every day. But he had learned a lot during the years.

So he knew his answer. “No, I haven’t.” It was barely true because he wasn’t interested in rumors at all. So why was the bishop asking him?

“I don’t mean to offend you, really. But I wondered if you probably want to know about some things. If you keep your mouth shut, of course, because it is nothing official yet.”

“Why should I want to know? I don’t think it will be – important for somebody like… _us._ ”

Although Ivar bit his lip right after this cheeky answer, he hoped that the bishop wasn’t offended by the way Ivar had pronounced his words. But when he waited a second, the bishop smiled again.

“Because it is important for you. So, my thoughts went around this topic for about two years now. I want to create a new society, I don’t really feel okay with the current situation. I will submit a suggestion to the human council to delete those numbers.”

_This must be a joke._

Moments passed and Ivar didn’t move. Was this a joke? Was it probably a trap? But still feeling the warm gaze of this man on his back, Ivar snorted. _Cheeky day._

“I don’t know, Sir, why you think this might work but… it won’t work.” He turned towards the bishop but didn’t looked him into the eyes. The bishop leaned back in his chair and watched Ivar with something he was not sure about. Was it interest?

Ivar felt his cheeks turning red, but he acted like he didn’t notice it. _Act like a man_ , he thought.

“Why do you think so?”

“They – well, they need to change the whole system. The payments, the blocks and areas where we live in. And they would… I need to go back to work now, Sir, I’m sorry.”

“They would what?”

Ivar stood where he was, still gazing over to the bishop but not directly looking him in the eyes.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Ivar took all his courage that he had and raised his voice, when he said: “They would fear us again.”

Then he pushed the carriage away as loud as he could, afraid of what could happen – but when he was walking down the hallway, there was nothing happening.

  * \---§---§---§---§---§



It was raining heavy when Ivar walked down the main street after work. There were not many people on the streets, and when they noticed him, it was with a disgusted look.

But like everyone from his folk, he was used to it. He pulled the hood of his sweater deeper in his face and accelerated his footsteps; his district was not far away anymore.

After ten minutes he entered the dust and rainy streets of district north 9, a district where they kept the surviving people of the northern Viking folks. The air became somehow heavy, and Ivar pulled away his hood and slowed down a bit.

This was no home, and it never would be.

The streets were badly structured, and the buildings surrounding the district were old and nearly rotten sometimes. The only aspect that the rents were so low was that this kept the numbers inside; so they were not be able to rent an apartment or house outside the district.

Misery was the former king on these streets.

Families were living under horrible circumstances, living in apartments with at least up to seven people in 2-3 rooms. Hunger was always a problem.

Ivar lived here was his family. His father had been a king once; but now, he was nothing but a number, like everyone of them. His brothers, his mother – everyone had this fucking number tattooed that degraded them to worthless souls living in a rich society that punished them like slaves.

Being barely 20 years old, Ivar had seen too much suffering in all that time – admitting he had been hungry for blood once.

He took off his shoes when he entered their apartment. His mother looked around the corner and smiled. “Hard day, honey?”, she said, but Ivar just shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you want to eat something? Ubbe has cooked and –“

“No, mom, I’m not hungry. I’m just gonna chill a bit, I’m tired.”

She watched him a long time, then she nodded softly.

“You can microwave it later, if you like to. Ragnar isn’t here.”

His father was always working harder and longer than anyone in the family. From king to number, he was not able to feed them all; but Ivar and his brothers were old enough to help out.

“Thanks mom.”

As soon as he was in his room, he closed the door and dropped on his bed with a deep sob. And when he watched the ceiling and thought about the bishop, he had the tingling feeling that there was more than just a man with a title.

A man with a vision.

Ivar opened his belt and the knob of his jeans; his hands slid slowly down until he touched his growing cock with softly shaking hands.

He imagined the bishop with every stroke and rub he did, shivering until he came under blue eyes watching him intense.


End file.
